Kindle A Light
by smallpaperstars
Summary: When James looks at Lily, he feels like his heart is warming his whole body. When Lily looks at James, she feels breathless. And everyone knows that oxygen and heat are essential for a flame to burn. All that's left is the fuel. So when James takes Lily on a date, something is kindled. Fluffy Jily with some excitement thrown in :)
1. Chapter 1: Kindle

**Hello my lovelies. So I've been going competition crazy lately. This fic is written for Ashleigh's Monthly Competition, about my first OTP (can I get a heck yes for Jily ?:) ) and also for the Scrabble Challenge, with the prompt 'kindle'. **

To kindle a fire, you need three crucial components : heat, fuel and oxygen. Combined, these three ingredients can light anything from a birthday candle to a forest fire, if they burn hot enough. But the strongest flame is the one in the heart. It can burn love to ashes, or glow with the warmth of a hearth in winter.

Fire Of Love

by John Laset

_Fire is love and love is fire;_

_And the fire is within me,_

_Burning brightly - lighting my way_

_Every day._

_I know now where heaven is on earth;_

_And it is in your arms, warm and soft -_

_Full of the fire that burns our soul,_

_Making us one, making us whole._

_Hold me beneath your wings, my angel;_

_And we'll fly away together._

_Fly far away into our own secret place,_

_Where you and I can share this fire._

_This fire in our hearts that will burn forever..._

Heat: The spark, the ignition, the first flames.

The sun was beating down on the students' backs in an insistent wave of heat. Professor Kettleburn droned on, seemingly oblivious that his students were in danger of getting heat stroke in the sunny forest clearing. James wiped the sweat off his face and glanced at Sirius, who seemed to be slowly marinating under his long black hair.

"I'm so _hot_," he complained.

Sirius winked. "Oh yes you are."

Remus, beside them, grinned. "It's so hot it's like being tied to the wrong end of a dragon. When does this class end, anyways?"

"Not soon enough," muttered James. "What say ye that after Care of Magical Creatures we nab some ice cream from the kitchens?"

"Agreed," piped up Peter, whose entire shirt was drenched in sweat.

"Eugh, Wormy, that's disgusting.'

"If we wring his shirt out we can make a pool and dive in," offered Sirius. Remus grimaced in revulsion at his friend "Well, look at him. Poor bloke's gonna drown if we don't do something soon."

"Well, it's not as bad as _Snape_," said Peter indignantly. The smile slid off of Remus' face as he took a deep internal sigh_, _evidently steeling himself for what was to come.

James' and Sirius' heads turned in unison, like hunting dogs catching a scent, as they looked around for Severus Snape. "Look at him," said James gleefully. "I think the git might actually burst into flames from all the grease in his pores." Poor Snape was sweltering under the hot summer sun. Sweat was dripping into his eyes, and he kept smearing it away with a dirty sleeve as he tried to focus on the Care of Magical Creatures lesson, and his already oily hair was now gleaming with perspiration.

Finally class ended, and the majority of the Gryffindors and Slytherins made tracks for the cool castle stones. But James had completely forgotten about ice cream by now. He watched Snape, whose nose was buried in his notes, step absentmindedly over tree roots.

"Oi, Snivelly," called James. "Don't trip." Sirius was sneering at his side, and Peter was bobbing along at his heels excitedly. But Remus was muttering something under his breath. _Come on James leave him alone let's go._ James steadily disregarded this.

Severus looked up sharply and looked unsettled to find himself virtually alone with the foursome. "What do you want, Potter?" he said, trying and failing to look disdainful rather than afraid. He clutched his notes a little tighter and tried to stare them down.

"Just curious," said Sirius innocently. "Are you selling tickets?"

"What are you talking about?" Snape said scornfully.

"Tickets. For Grease, I mean. Are you staging a Broadway revival?" Snape colored a deep red. His fists clenched and he reached for his robes pocket.

But James was faster. In an instant he had his wand out and pointed at Snape, who froze with his wand halfway outstretched. "Easy there," James said evenly. "Don't overexert yourself. We wouldn't want you fainting away in this heat." Severus' face screwed up in hate at the jibe, and before James could react he had shot off a spell.

Flames reared up around James in a circle, hemming him in. He yelped as one licked at his robes, searing him with heat. "Agua-" he began, but his wand shot away from him through the flames. He couldn't see anything behind the solid wall of red and gold, but he could hear Sirius, Remus and Peter screaming curses and countercurses. The inferno suddenly vanished around James as Remus bawled the right spell.

Snape was panting heavily as he continued to ward off Sirius' furious onslaught. His back hit a tree trunk and he stumbled. Sirius kicked his wand out of the way and pointed his own at Snape's face, which went crosseyed in terror.

"Oi!" shouted a girl's voice. James turned to see none other than Lily Evans storming over through the trees.

"Afternoon, Evans," he greeted her. She looked at him as one might regard a talking sea slug and tossed her flaming red hair.

"What was with the fire?" she asked.

"Well, Snape's passion for you set the forest ablaze," James told her, seeing Severus cringe in the corner of his eye and feeling a vicious satisfaction. He knew that the Slytherin had never managed to repair his relationship with Lily, and that that fact was a source of deep injury.

Lily glared at him. "I don't know _who _you're talking about, but I would appreciate you not burning the forest down. It's the shadiest place here, and if you haven't noticed, it's rather hot recently."

"Not as hot as you," said James automatically. It had been much more of a laugh to ask Lily out when he knew that it would likely provoke Snape's wrath. Now that the git was no longer friends with Evans it caused less of a stir, although James knew it still greatly bothered Snape. Of course Evans was pretty, but she was so fractious it was like appreciating the beauty of a desert cactus. He mainly asked her out nowadays to see what kind of reaction he could get from her. At least, that's what he told himself

"Stuff it or I'll stuff you," she said, which did not take him by surprise in the least. Then she smiled. "Although thank you, I do appreciate the sentiment."

This took him aback. She had never smiled at him, and certainly never thanked him. Then her eyes flicked to the boy on the ground, and James understood. She was using him to get back at her former best friend. A pang of uncomfortable warmth went through his chest at the realization, and he shook it off irritably. Why should he care that she was using him exactly how he had used her?

"Anytime," he said easily. She smiled again, which sent another strange spasm of heat through his chest, then turned and left, red hair streaming behind her. She had not acknowledged Snape, or their torment of Snape, in the least. James watched her go, still feeling that unexpected pang, then turned to Severus, who looked like he'd been forced to lick a lemon.

"We're friends, you know," he taunted the Slytherin, who stared at him with unconcealed hatred. "We hang out on the weekends and such while you write in your diary about all your little Death Eater friends. I think my business is done here, so I'm going to go find some ice cream. Anyone care to join?"

Peter raised his hand enthusiastically while Sirius shot a longing look at Snape. "Sorry we aren't inviting you," he said venomously. "I thought you'd be busy enough, since your wand's up a tree and all. _Wingardium Leviosa!"_ Snape's wand flew into the branches overhead, where it disappeared among the identical twigs.

"Later, Snivvy," cackled James, and he and his friends walked back towards the castle, while Snape tried to jump up to reach the branches.

"So, that was weird," said Remus conversationally.

"Yes, having flames surround me is not something that happens on a daily basis," said James sarcastically.

"I meant Lily, prat." James was silent. He was trying to overcome that strange warmth burning in his chest, so different from the ravenous flames that had recently surrouded him. This fire came from inside, ignited by that beautiful smile. But he didn't like Evans; he certainly wasn't burning with love for her.

Was he?

Fuel: the catalyst, the incendiary, the synergist.

Sirius punched a fist in the air. "Hogsmeade! Yes!" he shouted.

"Seriously?" asked Remus in surprise. "Isn't it still closed? I thought the Ministry had it closed off for Hogwarts students."

"Don't complain," advised Sirius. "It's been so long since we went to Zonko's! Yeah, James?"

"Mm?" James looked away from the common room fire at his best friend.

Sirius' expression did not change, but James could sense his irritation. "Zonko's. Hogsmeade is open again for students."  
"I thought it was closed down for students-didn't the Ministry decide it was too dangerous with the War going on?"

Sirius rolled his eyes heavenwards, letting the irritation shine through. "Yes," he said with exaggerated patience. "It _was _closed, but it has recently opened again. There's going to be Aurors surrounding the place, so I guess it'll be safe enough. We can renew our stock of Dungbombs, yeah? We're running dangerously low."

When James did not answer, Sirius looked at Remus, who shrugged and mouthed _Lily_. Sirius' mouth tightened.

"_James_," he said. "Please tell me you're thinking about the Halloween prank we've been planning for weeks, and not about Evans. It's seventh year. Time to move on to fresh hunting grounds."

"I wasn't thinking about Lily," snapped James. "I was...listen, Padfoot, about the prank-"

"Don't you say it."

"Maybe we shouldn't," pressed on James. "It's, er, not very nice-"

"You came up with it!"

James winced. "Yeah, I know, but-"

"And since when have you _not _enjoyed seeing Snivellus humiliated in front of the whole school?" Sirius questioned, his voice rising. "This is about Evansagain, isn't it? You want to show her that you're a better man who's above that sort of childish thing-"

"Her name is Lily," hissed James angrily. "And now that Hogsmeade is open I'm going to ask her on a date. Forget Zonko's. Forget the Dungbombs. Why can't you just nose out for once, Black?"

Sirius flinched at the last name, and James felt a brief, mean rush of satisfaction, followed immediately by a surge of guilt and shock at what he'd just said. "Listen, Padfoot, I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," said Sirius coldly. "Forget it, Potter." He stalked out of the room. Remus looked at James.

"You're set on asking her out?" he said.

James sighed. "Yeah."

"Good luck, mate," said Remus encouragingly. "You've been spending a lot of time together lately. You even saw her over the summer, yeah?" James nodded. "And she hasn't hexed your head open off yet. I'd say that's a good sign. Just," Remus hesitated. "Don't forget about us, okay?"

"Of course not," said James quickly. Remus got up and followed Sirius, leaving James alone with his turbulent thoughts.

~0~

She was sitting in the library, vivid hair a vision against the snowlit windows. James watched her as the red locks cut across her cheek like a cardinal's wing. He twisted his hands nervously as he imagined her standing up, tossing that hair disdainfully and walking out of the library, out of his life. He took a deep breath.

Time to add some fuel to the fire building inside him.

"Hey, Lily," he smiled winningly.

She looked up. "James! There you are! This last problem on the Charms homework is just sitting here staring at me, it's driving me mad. Any insight?" Her eyes were bright and eager, and he felt the flames jump inside him.

"Well, you know me, I know all about charm," he said and winked.

Lily rolled her eyes and pretended to groan in annoyance, but when she looked at him there was merriment in the deep green. And a hint of something else, he imagined.

"Er, yeah, so the Charms homework," he said quickly.

They labored over the Charms homework until the sky grew wintry dark, chortling silently when Madam Pince poked her eagle's nose around the corner. James loved to watch her laugh. It took over her whole body, shaking her shoulders and stretching out her mouth and throwing her head back. So he cracked as many jokes as he could to get her to laugh.

By some miracle they managed to put aside the laughter for a moment and finish the homework. Lily put the strap of her bag over her shoulder slowly, as if waiting for something. "Thanks for the help, Potter," she smirked. Once the use of his surname would have been bitter, but now it seemed gently mocking.

"Anytime, Evans," he replied. His voice came out a little higher than normal with apprehension. It was now or never. "So, Hogsmeade is open again. Fancy a butterbeer?"

Lily blinked, long lashes fluttering like rapid butterfly wings. "Er."

"Never mind, forget I asked," he said quickly. "No problem. Have a good night." He got up, trying not to scramble.

"No, James wait," she said, starting to laugh. "Slow down! I'd love to grab a butterbeer. With you."

"I mean, I messed that up, didn't I?" He rubbed his hand over his face. "I meant to ask you on a proper date, but..."

She laughed again and took his fidgeting hand in her own. "Well, you do know all about charm. So. A date it is then. Pick me up at eight and don't be late."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said happily. The flames stoked a little higher in his middle as he watched her walk away, fueled by relief and joy.

Oxygen: the breath of life.

Lily smoothed her hair for the upteenth time in the mirror, feeling breathless.

"Lily," said Marlene soothingly. "You look lovely."

"But he's James and he's so confident and I-"

"Once upon a time those words would have never left your mouth," inserted Alice as she poked her head into the loo, where they were curling Lily's hair. Marlene nodded.

"He's just as nervous as you, love," she consoled her best friend. "Probably more, if what Sirius tells me is true."

"Is Sirius taking you to Hogsmeade as well?" asked Alice curiously.

Marlene's mouth tightened. "No. No, he is not. He prefers to spend his precious time at Zonko's Joke Shop instead of on his girlfriend."

Alice blushed. "Sorry, Mar. I'm sure he'll come to his senses."

"I'm not," said Marlene shortly. "Well, at least one boy around here has sense. I never thought it would be James Potter, but life is full of surprises. He's smart enough to date my beautiful, confident friend, who is _far _too good for him." Marlene embraced Lily, the irritated scowl vanishing from her face.

"So, I look all right?" Lily said anxiously.

"If you were a Muggle artifact you'd be a vacky-flume, because you suck all the oxygen from the room," said Marlene affectionately. Lily resisted the urge to correct her and beamed.

"Then off I go on my merry way," she said, hugging her friends again.

She found James waiting anxiously for her in the Common Room. Marlene was right, he did look nervous. As soon as she reached his side he brandished a rose at her, almost hitting her in the face.

"Whoops, sorry," he apologized. "To make up for last night. I meant to sweep you off your feet."

She smirked and took the rose, which nearly matched the color of her hair. "No, I was very flattered. Almost flattened, actually, when you tried to leave at the speed of light." He colored adorably but laughed.

"Well, I'm overjoyed to see you, er, upright and rounded out instead of flattened like a pancake."

"Rounded out? James Potter, are you calling me fat?"

He hastened to reassure her, and she started laughing. He joined her, and they didn't stop talking and laughing until they reached the Three Broomsticks.

There, the sight of a dozen Aurors patrolling the streets of Hogsmeade quickly sobered them. "They weren't kidding, were they?" said James quietly.

"Are they expecting Voldemort himself to come get a butterbeer?" asked Lily sardonically. She felt a rush of gratification that he didn't flinch pathetically at the name. So many people were so terrified of the man that they barely spoke his name at all anymore.

"He strikes me as more of a firewhiskey type, you know, all terrible sounding but really quite nice once you sit down with it for a while."

Lily laughed into the hushed atmosphere, and the Aurors turned to regard her silently. "And you've sat and had a cuppa with the Dark Lord then?"

James smiled. "Yeah, we had us a regular old gossip." She looked at his solitary dimple and felt like all the air had rushed out of the town.

"Well, shall we emulate then?"

He bowed gallantly. "After you, my lady."

They entered the Three Broomsticks. Lily was shocked at the lack of motion. Normally the place was buzzing with chatter and alcohol, but now everyone seemed on edge, clutching their drinks closely and speaking in furtive voices. "Well," said James, "so much for an exciting first date."

She smiled at him. "I've already had the best time in months today." He smiled back at her, a little unbelieving, as though he was skeptical that she could ever have a good time with someone like him. It was so out of character from the James she'd grown up with. This James was humble without being self-righteous, but still irreverent enough to make her laugh for minutes on end. Ever since the beginning of sixth year he'd lost the cruel edge and become a kinder person. She loved it.

She loved him.

Lily had known this for a while now. She never could have loved James as he was before, with his ruthless pranks and vicious smile. This James had all the deadly charm with none of the literal deadliness. And she had fallen for him. Worked up a friendship with him. And now she was on a date with him. It was like a fairytale.

Suddenly, the air went cold.

Frost clutched at the space between her scarf, and she clutched it closer and glanced at James. "What's going-"

The warm fire was suddenly extinguished from the friendly hearth, plunging the pub into semidarkness. James grabbed her arm. "Get behind me," he said urgently. All semblance of laughter was gone from his eyes, which were staring behind her. She followed his gaze and felt the air get knocked out of her.

Masked, heavily cloaked figures were appearing out of thin air. They fired hexes at the Aurors. The Aurors, taken by surprise, were forced to retreat as they tried to defend themselves against the burgeoning mass of black.

"Everyone, out the back door!" shouted James. The pubgoers started to scream and jostle as they pushed for the exit. Then, suddenly, the back door was flung open and a host of darkness filled the doorway. Death Eaters poured into the room, furiously firing spells into the crowd. A few people were hit instantly and crumpled to the floor; everyone else scrambled for their wands. Shrieks of pain and fear colored the oxygen devoid air. Lily gasped for breath and took out her wand with shaking hands. Beside her, James was already fighting. Mask after mask fell beneath his wand. She followed his lead, trying to clear a path.

At last they made it to the door. Their enemies were busy fighting, and the way was clear. "We have to go!" shouted James.

"No, we need to help, we need to help people," cried Lily. She registered vaguely that she was sobbing.

"The best thing we can do is get back to the school and warn everyone!" he yelled, taking her by the shoulders. "Lily, we have to go!" He took her hand and led her along the back streets. Lily was numb, breathless. There had been people on the ground, people injured...what if Marlene or Alice was lying on the cold cobblestones somewhere?

~0~

"We managed to drive them off," said Dumbledore soothingly, "thanks to your warning." He looked kindly at Lily, who was shaking uncontrollably. James put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Your help was invaluable," he continued. "It saved lives. We were able to reach the Ministry, and supply the Aurors with reinforcement."

"All those people on the ground," Lily whispered.

"There was nothing we could do," James said. "We would have gotten killed, too." He tightened his arms around her and despite the cold fear freezing her heart, she felt a warmth begin to melt it.

"All students are accounted for, though some are badly injured. Nothing the Hospital Wing cannot fix. I believe Miss McKinnon and Mr. Black managed to barricade themselves in Zonko's Joke Shop and began throwing Dungbombs at the interlopers. They were quite resourceful," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling slightly.

James laughed. Lily joined him shakily. "Hopefully that mended the damage," she murmured.

"Young love is amazingly resilient," answered Dumbledore. His eyes seemed to probe her thoughts, and she blushed a little. "It lights a fire in the darkest night." Lily put a hand on James' arm around her and smiled at him. He was gazing at her softly, and she could see a glow in his eyes.

"Once again, thank you for your help," Dumbledore said. "I do hope more butterbeers lie in your future." And on that note he left.

"Barmy," said James. She swatted him.

"He's a genius."

"A barmy genius," he said in concession.

"Do you think he was right? About Sirius and Marlene? With all that New Age-y young love stuff," she said with half a giggle. But James looked thoughtful.

"Lighting a fire in the darkest night," he said pensively. "Yeah, I do. I dunno, sometimes I'll feel this warmth inside of me-it keeps me fighting, you know? It makes me hold my head up high when I'm walking past Lestrange or Macnair and their Death-Eater wannabes. And even though I could barely breathe in that pub, I could still feel it, burning away."

She stared at him. He flushed. "You probably think I'm an emotionally unstable nutter-"  
Lily reached up, pulled his face down, and kissed him hard. His eyes widened in shock, but then his arms reached around her and pulled her tightly against him. His arms molded around her like they were made for her body. Their hot lips mingled together, and Lily could feel a fire burning inside her, reaching its way up her throat.

She pulled away. "I know exactly what you're talking about, because I feel so warm inside whenever I'm around you, James. Like I've got the sun singing inside me. So let's be emotionally unstable together."

"That's my next pickup line," he half-laughed, eyes still wide with surprise and happiness. He held her tight with one arm and touched her face tenderly with the other. "What happened to no kissing on the first date?"

"Well, kissing burns calories. And you did tell me I was round earlier."

And laughter and fire and happiness mingled in against her lips as he held her close.

**I do hope you enjoyed it! I haven't written fluffies in way too long and I enjoy it soooo much! I hope the formatting was all right as well. It looked a lil bit funky when I uploaded it.**

**If you review there will be a Hogwarts Letter on your doorstep tomorrow morning. Unless you're a Muggle. Sorry, I don't make the rules.**

**P.S Is anyone else going absolutely batcrap CRAZY over the news? A new movie! Asdgh;lasdj**

**love,**

**hogwartsharpist**


	2. Chapter 2: Inquisitive

**Written for the Scrabble Comp, prompt 'inquisitive'. I got a little two poetical with this one, I think, but it was definitely fun to exercise creative license :) So basically I always loved how well-rounded Hermione was in the books. She was so smart and logical, but she was also a teenager who got hurt and fell in love. Since my prompt was 'inquisitive', which applies to Hermione so very well, I decided to portray her as I see her: with a little bit of everything. Enjoy! :)**

On Hermione's bedroom wall, across the top of her closet, was emblazoned a quote by Albert Einstein: "To raise new questions, new possibilities, to regard old problems from a new angle, requires creative imagination." It was the first thing she learned how to read. And it was all uphill from there. She devoured books and absorbed knowledge, with Einstein's quote (always a bass note) in (the harmony of) her mind.

And Hermione never stopped asking questions. Even when she left the bedroom behind, she carried the quote with her (like color on a butterfly). "To raise new questions, new possibilities..." She was known as the smart one, the brainiac, the Ravenclaw Sorted into Gryffindor by mistake. She was subtly proud of this reputation; sometimes it felt like all she had. Lavender and Pavarti were the pretty ones. Hermione was the smart one. (Sometimes it felt like being given pigeon wings among swans.) And so she asked questions (like birds dropped feathers,) hoping that someday, somehow, it would be enough that her mind was beautiful.  
Her hand became accustomed to shooting up into the air, until the tingle of blood draining from her fingertips felt like second nature. To raise a new question, to raise a hand, to be the smart-and-not-beautiful Hermione everyone expected her to be. It was enough. Then came her fourth year, which happened(whirled and danced and exploded) to her life (like a broken firework).  
Hermione Granger had two important (as important as a raindrop) realizations. She dealt with this the only way she knew how (by crying and laughing and loving and living): by forming a scientific hypothesis.  
First: She realized she was not, in truth, as smart as everyone thought she was. Smart was natural ability and natural propensity for knowledge. Hermione was not smart. She was inquisitive. Instead of knowing things instinctively, like a truly (deepsea down) intelligent person would, she had to ask, she had to find things out through the intelligence of other people. What had she ever created for herself? Nothing but rote-learned potions and practiced spells. She was devoid of the creative imagination (she had dreamed of) Einstein spoke of.  
Second: There were (star-strewn-sky amounts of) many different sides to herself. The Scientist side, the only one she was familiar with, was not alone. Cold logic and questions had been her identity, and (lonely) determination her ipseity. Harry and Ron had been friends, true; but they were constant one day and fluid friends the next. The Scientist told her that people were (the wind, the sea) changeable and capricious.  
But fourth year brought heat to the frigid science. There was (hairspray) (and dresses) (and dancing) (and kissing) warmth in her heart when she saw her friends now. Perhaps it was the warmth four years' kindling had sparked at last. Perhaps it was the warmth of (very first and only) (love?) But in any case, The Scientist was joined by another voice. The Poet.  
This (melliflous, melodious) voice whispered in (parentheses) the edges of her thoughts that maybe he loved? her too. He looked at her with warmth. The Poet was abandon to the Scientist's reason, illogic to the Scientist's logic, hope to the numb rationality. And she realized that it was asking questions that made her smart, not knowing by instinct. Questions were the answer (the sonata's theme) and asking them mdant she could create anything she wanted.  
And the Poet grew louder (and louder) and louder every year, and warmer and warmer and warmer until at last the warmth banished the cold and she was able see that she was not smart-and-not-beautiful Hermione, but Hermione. Hermione the Poet and the Scientist, who asked new questions, who possessed creative imagination, who loved and thought and inquired.

**Ahhh it's so weird but it's late and I needed to get this in! Thanks for reading and if you give me a review, I will...probably smile at my screen like an idiot. Please review! It seriously helps so much :)))**

**Much love, my cupcakes,**

**hogwartsharpist**


	3. Chapter 3: Alleviate

**Prompt was alleviate.**

Her mum always told her that there were three cures for a broken heart. Mum never said anything about a ruined face, but Lavender figured that they weren't all that different. One was just on the outside. Surely the cure was the same for both.

Of course nowadays she realized that a broken heart and a ruined face were two very different things. If you had a very deep-down-no-good-rotten-to-the-core-worm-ridden-h eart, people could still love you as long as you had a pretty face. Look at her second year Defense teacher, who'd had a smile like the sunrise and a heart as nasty as unwashed socks. Or Hermione Granger, who'd blinked her pretty brown eyes at Lavender's boyfriend and stolen his heart without a thought for Lavender's own shattered heart.

Lavender had had brown eyes once, just like Hermione. Now they were the color of dried plums and about as beautiful, with cataracts crisscrossing the pupils. She'd had skin fresh and clear as a raindrop, and hair as smooth as a silkworm's dream. Now scars, thick and ropy, laid her face open to the unforgiving air, and her bald head was often mistaken for a boy's. She'd had it shaved while she was unconscious, so that her skull could be stitched back together

Lavender didn't hate Hermione Granger anymore. She didn't hate anyone – her loathing was only directed inwards. It took too much energy to hate anyone. In fact, Lavender's heart, and her mind, were almost the only things left unscarred. If anything Greyback's attack had healed her heart; it had taught her that the most important things were inside, not out. But all anyone saw were the huge jagged scars slashing vividly across her face.

The scars no longer hurt, but she felt the pain renewed again every time she saw a mirror. She needed a cure, a miracle, an alleviation. Her mother had always told her there were three cures for a broken heart, and Lavender believed her.

**Find a quiet bit of art.**

The fingers that made her lunch were rainbow, and the smile that kissed her often had a colored mustache above it where an absentminded itch had struck. Her daughter was named after her favorite color. Mum lived in a world of turpentine and canvas, a magical land where the white blankness became color. She could paint anything: a Muggle bus in the rain, a kaleidoscopic eye. Mum took the simplest, quietest moments and made them Art with a capital A. Lavender herself could only draw stick figures, but Mum smiled and said, _Well, my darling, the art is not the ink and paper. It's the person holding the pen, or the person who loves the lines, that is the art, because art is inside beauty._

_Mum_, prayed Lavender silently. Her mother had been dead three years now, and whenever the dawn deepened the sky she thought it might be Mum coloring in the clouds, getting pink and gold and orange under her nails. _I don't feel like a work of art. You always told me it was on the inside, but now there's something on the outside too_. She traced the lines of her scars. They intersected like ley lines, but she felt none of their magic. _No one loves these lines_. _Oh, mum, I've been looking and I see no beauty. No Art with a capital A. _

She looked in the mirror and tried not to cry, because the salt made her scars sting terribly. A pale face looked back at her. Hopeless eyes, soft mouth; it would have been a peaceful face if not for the violence intersecting it. Then she looked closer. Art with a capital A.

Lavender traced the angle, which stretched from her left cheekbone across her eye to her temple then down to her chin, then stroked the line intersecting the angle. A jagged letter A suddenly shone out of her face, scarlet and bold. Lavender stared at it. A small smile crossed her face and the A fattened. _I found it, Mum, _she thought. _I found the art inside me. It's outside me, but if I take it inside me I will learn to love it. _A for art. A for alleviating the pain, even if it was slight.

**Make a new friend**.

Lavender drew the scarf across her face more tightly as she appeared in the middle of the empty street. _A for apparate_. Her scars had appeared as unexpectedly as she just had...

Lavender held the image of the A firmly in her mind as she walked quickly over to one of the houses. _A is for amazing. I am amazing. I am a fighter, I am a survivor and now everyone will know it._

She rang the doorbell. _Please help me, Mum_, she prayed. _Paint me a sword and shield. Paint my heart red with courage_.

The door remained closed. Lavender sighed. No doubt Luna was chasing some invisible monster all around the house, too busy to answer the door. She opened it and went in herself. She wandered into the simple living room. _A is for alone_.

Then Luna Lovegood floated into the room. "Hello, Lavender," she said quietly. "Thank you for coming. You didn't have to, you know."

"I know," said Lavender, voice muffled by the scarf.

"We could do the pictures with the scarf, if that makes you more comfortable," said Luna compassionately. "Of course, the idea behind this is to show the world how you're comfortable with it off... But I suppose 'scar' is part of 'scarf'." She looked genuinely thoughtful.

Lavender rolled her eyes. "No, I'm taking it off." She began unwinding the scarf from her face, painfully conscious of the scars. She had never let anyone, aside from the Healers, see her uncovered face.

"You are beautiful," said Luna simply. Lavender looked at her unbelievingly, feeling the scar jut out from her face like a neon sign. But Luna simply smiled.

"When my mother died," she said gently, "I was the first one to see her in her coffin. She was caught in an explosion, you see, and she had scars all over. At first I didn't recognize her. But then I saw the little lines by her mouth, the ones that deepened when she smiled. And I knew who she was, and I knew that she was still smiling somewhere. She was still the same person." Luna's eyes were soft and bright, full of simple love for her mother and for Lavender. After a moment Lavender returned the smile. It felt natural. Luna exuded a soft light that was impossible to ignore. Lavender had missed it in Hogwarts; those strange earrings had always distracted her from Luna's smile. But now it was as if she could finally see.

"I thought we'd start with 'unbreakable'," began Luna.

"No," said Lavender. "Shattered. May as well do this in chronological order. People will find it difficult enough to understand as it is."

"Not the people that matter," said Luna. "But I think 'shattered' is perfect. From the beginning. What's at the end?" and her luminous eyes probed Lavender's face. Lavender took a deep breath.

"Alleviated."

Luna smiled.

Then she gave Lavender two sheets of paper. Lavender held the one reading 'sh' on one side of her face, and the one reading 'ttered' on the other. The A scarring her face was framed between them.

_Shattered._

Luna snapped a picture and handed her the next papers.

They continued for an hour, going through _shattered, attacked, scarred, fractured, damaged, hated. _Lavender held them around the A on her face, forming the words that had tortured her for those first dark months after the Battle. She had refused to look at her own face for almost a year, and had locked herself away from the critical eyes of the world. But she was almost ready to bare her face now. Luna was taking pictures for the _Quibbler_, for a special report on the victims of the war. Lavender thought her mum would be proud. For the first time in her life she was creating Art that meant something, that would inspire others.

_Alive, salvaged, repaired, saved, balanced, brave. _She had finally moved on from the black hate in her heart and was ready to drench it in sunshine yellow.

_Alleviated_. A is for alleviated – the feeling she got when she was able to cut away a little more of the darkness twisted around her heart. She felt some of the pain just melt away. As if she were being cleansed, or healed.

Luna handed her scarf gently back to her with her soft smile. Lavender wished she could take the smile instead of the scarf. "No," she said aloud. "I'm done hiding. I am a survivor, not a refugee." Overcome, she hugged Luna tightly. Luna wrapped her graceful arms around Lavender and hugged her back.

"You are so beautiful," Luna said again. "If I had to describe your smile, it would be like sunlight on water. Don't forget to smile, Lavender. It lets the beauty shine through." Lavender smiled, cried, and believed her friend.

**Have a cup of tea.**

Aromatic, astringent. It was her mantra now. Thinking of A words. It reminded her who she was and what she was. Even something as simple as drinking tea was enough to drown her in depression again when she saw her reflection in the liquid mirror, and her little habit helped her keep her sunshine yellow heart and sunlit-water smile that she had never quite lost since reading the latest edition of the _Quibbler_.

The tea burned her mouth a little and she let it run through the spaces between her teeth, into every corner of her mouth, until her whole tongue was coated with the sharp, heady peppermint taste. She liked peppermint. It was a straightforward sort of taste, simply what it was, with no other flavour to distract from it. The tea trickled down her throat. She could swear it welled around her heart and warmed it in her chest.

It felt so fresh and clean and awakening, just as it felt on her tongue. Just as it felt when it seared her eyelids with the sharp scent or trailed into her nose. Her eyes and nose and heart. Both outside and inside, but the feeling – the scent – the taste – was not so different after all.

Lavender remembered what she'd thought so many years ago, that a broken heart and a bleeding face did not feel all that different. She'd been right after all. Both were excruciating; both could be alleviated.

And if you took them into yourself and made them your own, they became Art with a capital A.

**I am simply in love with this character. Think of what a shock physical disfigurement must have been to the superficial Lavender Brown. How could she ever recover from that? The answer is simple: she didn't. Not completely. But she got better, and found herself again, and changed herself until it didn't hurt as much to look in a mirror.**

**I love you all! Please have a fantastic week! And if you love me too...send me a review :) Reviews are love.**

**-hogwartsharpist**


	4. Chapter 4: Rationalize

** Yay OTP time! This fic was written for the Scrabble Competition, prompt 'rationalize'. It was also written for the scrupulously precise Quoheleth. Quo, I know there's probably dozens of mistakes, but thank you for introducing me to 'Parliament of Fowls'. It's a very enjoyable piece :)**

"How do you read this rubbish?" asked Ron curiously. Hermione glanced up at him.

"Rubbish it is _not_," she said with dignity. "Chaucer is one of the great authors of our time."

Ron snorted and noticed how her hair caught the firelight. "But that's my point. He's not even of _our time_. He's some Muggle who's famous for writing sixteenth century soap operas."

Hermione sighed and closed the heavy book, putting it on the small spindle-legged table beside her. She rested both arms on the velveted arms of the large chaise lounge, looking like some imperious ruler as she glared at him. "First of all, Chaucer was alive in the later half of the fourteenth century, not the sixteenth. And he was best known for his comedy. Not soap operas. Haven't you ever heard of the Canterbury Tales?"

"Nope," he said, because he loved how her eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of discoursing on yet another obscure book. Ron sat on the chair opposite her, aware that this was likely to be about as exciting as History of Magic.

But he was wrong. Hermione seemed so _alive_. Her hands danced of their own accord as she tried to illustrate the Canterbury Tales. The common room firelight splayed shadows across her face as she tipped her head back in exasperation at Ron's ignorance of Muggle authors. "Honestly, you should be taking Muggle Studies, not me," she half-laughed.

"Well, why should I?" he said easily. "You tell me everything anyways." They stared at each other a bit too long, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He wondered vaguely what she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. "And anyways, how would I rationalize reading something I can barely understand?"

"Oh, it's not that hard. Look..." and she opened her book and came to sit beside him. "Here's my favorite part."

He squinted. "See, that's a different language. What is that, goblin? Alien? American?"

She laughed. "English."

He intentionally brushed her arm with his as he took the book from her, reveling in the feeling. "Ah yes...this is exactly how me and Harry talk when you're not around. '_A formel egle, of shap the gentilleste / That evere she among hire werkes fond, / The moste benygne and the goodlieste. / In hire was everi vertu at his reste / So ferforth that Nature hireself hadde blysse / To loke on hire and ofte hire bek to kysse.' _Definitely too casual for normal conversation."

She laughed. "It's poetry. It's not supposed to be simple."

"Well, what does it mean?" Ron prodded. It was oddly important to him to understand this, her favorite part. He felt, somewhat irrationally, that if he could understand this, he might be closer to understanding Hermione.

"Well...a 'formel egle', that's a female eagle. She's being pursued by these three 'tercels', or male eagles, and they're all trying to win her over."

"'Of shap the gentilleste.'"

"Precisely," Hermione nodded with a smile. She stared down at the pages and touched them gently. "It just seems so lovely, you know? 'Nature herself had blest.'"

"Jealous of an eagle?"

"No," she said.

He heard the 'yes' in her tone and thought he understood. Half of Hermione's life was locked in ink on pages. Books were not bound by spines, only by what she could visualize. Everything seemed so much more real for her, even if it was a single written sentence, and Ron felt like she was only sitting here in corporeal form; the other half was navigating Chaucer's lines.

The next morning, Hermione realized she had left her book behind in the common room. When she found it and picked it up to cram into her heavy bookbag, a piece of paper fell out. She picked it up hesitantly.

In boyish script she recognized well was written "That ever among Nature's works found, you are the most benign and the goodliest. In you is every virtue of nature, of shape you are the gentlest. Agh. I'm rubbish at this, and I still don't really understand Chancy, or whatever his name is. But now you don't need to be jealous of a bird." Carefully, with a small smile on her lips, Hermione tucked it back into her book and made sure it wouldn't fall out.

** Again, thanks Quoheleth for the inspiration. I was stuck in a rut with this piece, so much gratitude for digging me out. I hope the inaccuracies aren't too glaring! **

** Reviews are like chocolate chip cookies with milk.**


	5. Chapter 5: Sin

**Scrabble Challenge, character Sirius Black. And I just had to throw in some Marlene :) I used the prompt 'dark as sin'. Perfect for our wayward prodigal, no?**

She was a good girl.

She kept her head down

And never saw the clouds for the sun.

She had no shadow.

(And on her finger, a ring for purity.)

She had a pastor father and a mother who prayed

for her witchcraft-soaked daughter every night.

There was no dirt under her fingernails.

(And round her neck, a cross.)

And the sunshine

Paled when she looked at the sky.

Marlene did not know what she was searching for

in the profane sky.

God, maybe?

(And on her bedside, a Bible.)

And one day

she looked up

and saw the dark space between stars

laughing as it walked past her.

(And in her mind, a sudden question.)

He was a bad boy.

But he didn't know what that meant really

He just liked how it sounded

The words, crashing each on the end of the other.

(And between his teeth, a cigarette.)

Bad was his parents, boy was his brother.

Together they were his family.

Together they were Black.

But he was not one of them so he was a bad boy Black.

(And on his shoulder, a tattoo.)

The bad boy who made the good choices

and left his bad Black family.

But in leaving the black behind him

he felt darker than ever.

(And in his pocket, an old letter.)

And then he walked past the light

sitting on the bench.

Long brown hair and foolish eyes

with a prayer in its face.

(And in his heart, a sudden spark in the dark.)

She, bright angel,

and he, dark sin,

met and tasted each other's souls

with a gaze.

(And in the air, a heat.)

And the angel found

that she liked the sin

And the darkness found

that he craved the light.

( And in their souls

darkness and light

fell in

love.)


End file.
